It was here that God met me.  Grant had been struggling with the dr.’s regarding a drug issue (more info. available in epilepsy June 8).  I had no idea what was really going on, nor had I any real concept of how long Grant had been without sleep, but I could feel something was wrong.  In the middle of the night I looked over and I could see him pacing back and forth, struggling. I wanted so badly to be able to help him, but I knew I didn’t have the power.  There was nothing I could do, but be. Grant left to fight for me, convincing the dr.’s of their dosage errors and God met us both.

Purple smoke came through the doorway.  It was beautiful, much like a cloud, but purple – like nothing I’ve ever seen.  Coming through the doorway it moved towards my bed and upon reaching it, hovered over me covering me completely.  I felt such peace in that moment and was able to sleep, needed sleep.

The first of many beauties I saw in the hospital, this cloud at first made me wonder if I was hallucinating.   I asked God, “Am I hallucinating?”  But the more I understand who God is and what it is to hallucinate I know this was something very different.  That night my mother couldn’t sleep and got up to pray.  She prayed not that I would be healed nor that I would be free of pain, but that God would meet me in that hospital room wherever I was.  He did!

Not able to help my situation, I waited.  I couldn’t heal my body and God didn’t seem to be doing that just yet, so I needed to be patient.  I was frustrated with the weakness of my body and as I lay before the Lord I cried out, “heal me.”  Then I remembered that he already said he would; and that would turn into thanks and so in tears, in pain, in my agony before the Lord I accepted this next step, whatever it was, and kept going.

Through the next few days I would experience much pain and discomfort, but God was with me in it all.  Your prayers were and are so valuable.  The latter part of James 5:16 says, “The intense prayer of the righteous is very powerful.” I believe we experienced these.

I’m sure there were many things I wasn’t quite “seeing” properly at first.  I could hear more than I could see.  Voices came into my ears, but assimilating faces was a completely different animal.  Even Grant’s face was fuzzy and I knew him by the way he walked or what he was wearing.  I saw nothing clearly, but the news of the seizure that had placed me here.

I know now many people came to visit, but I was not aware of them.  I was in a world of drugs and plastic.  Numb to my own needs, I relied upon those around me to do their best.  Stating my opinion did not then lie within my ability.

Reaching a point where talking became attractive, I’m told I was quite funny.  I remember being quite charming.   Everything seemed tubular and I saw only what was directly in front of me.  My eyes didn’t seem to have a grasp yet on the complete room view, but I could hear laughter and my heart soared at its presence.

Tubes were soon disconnected, but my memory of this time is voices.  I remember best those few who boldly approached my bed and spoke close to my head.  I may not have seen their faces, but I heard their words.  I pray if the tables were turned I would do the same.

Seizures, at least the kind I experience, allow me to be momentarily out of the picture. It’s as if my senses are darkened and my body is able to do what it wants, where it wants without my permission.  Not until after the fact when I begin to feel, hear and understand does it become very painful. My experience in June was elevated in intensity in many ways.  Calm and silence lasted so much longer, but so did the pain, which was more intense than I’d known before.

As I stood by the refrigerator that morning I didn’t think anything was going to change my world so much I’d be in the hospital that evening.  I could not have predicted it.  But, as I heard Grant call my name and sit me down I knew he’d seen something strange.  I couldn’t see it.  I could feel the scrutiny, but I couldn’t see what was imminent.  I didn’t feel strange and though I couldn’t answer his questions properly I didn’t seem to know it.  It almost seemed funny.  And then I was in a white box.

I’d never been in such a wonderful place.  It was padded and soft and white and bright, but not so bright that it would hurt your eyes.  I remember feeling very safe and content in this box, but to this day no one can tell me about this box, because from their perspective I was never in a white padded box.